I swallow. “Of course.”
We go out onto the balcony. The wind blows Theresa’s perfect waves of pale blond hair as she stares out into the skyline. She keeps one hand on the railing and the other at her side, not bothering to brush the strands from her face. There’s something unsettling about that.
“Jax told me about you,” she says. “A long time ago.”
“I haven’t known him that long.”
“No, of course not. It was years ago. I remember. I was in the city on business, and I got the feeling Jax needed me. A mother knows.”
I nod like I agree. I’m very sure Mom never once sensed I needed her. If she did, I would never have started cutting like I did. Then again, she had her own grief to grapple with.
“When I arrived, Jax was standing on this very balcony. He told me a little boy had been killed.”
My blood turns to ice.
“And that the boy had an older sister.”
The earth stops turning.
“I have a lot of time to myself,” says Theresa. “I’ve often wondered what you might look like, or if you would join the Stags when your time came.” The shape of her eyes is just like Jax’s. “Do you regret it? Joining.”
I press myself against the railing behind me. “I would have joined no matter what anyone said. My mom told me not to. So did my dad. But I had to.”
“Because of your brother.”
“Yes.”
Theresa shifts so that she is facing me. She cups my chin in her hand, raising my gaze from the ground. “Tell me.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Tell me what happened. I want to hear it in your own words.”
There is a universe in her eyes. I wonder if she can see the glacier of pain in mine. My life since Leo died—chewing on exhaust fumes. My life, a permanent hydroplane.
Blood pounds in my head. I squeeze my eyes shut like a child waiting for a monster to disappear. Only when I open them again, Theresa is still there. Her very presence changes the feel of the air. I stare hard into her eyes—they’re blue-green, like the calmest mountain lake, only I get the feeling there’s something sinister in their depths.
“Tell me,” she says again.
The memory unlocks. Micah’s dead; what does anything really matter anyway? Even my deepest shame has changed to something inconsequential.
So I tell her all of it—well-worn words and realities I’ve lived with each day for two years. I recount that day the way I’ve recounted it a thousand times in my head and to Lyla and, more than once, to John Kilmer.
It had been warm that day—the sky was overcast but unusually bright given the time of year. I didn’t even bring an extra jacket to class.
Dad was at work. Mom was up in Napa visiting our grandma. Both of them fussed over whether I was responsible enough yet to drive on my own, but I had my license and Mom’s old Lexus. I got home around three, but Leo didn’t wrap up his music class until four so I set my alarm and took a nap.
The ring of the house phone startled me awake. That was strange. I remember it was strange that the home phone would be ringing because it almost never did. My room was dark as I shot up and grabbed at my phone—4:31 P.M.
I’d overslept.
I sped toward Marina View Elementary. The wind had picked up as fog swept in from the west, bringing with it darker rainclouds.
I made the last turn and spotted a pair of women huddled together, clutching each other’s hands. One of them was Leo’s teacher, Mrs. Miu. I swear to God I’ll live the rest of my life and never forget the look she gave me. The unmitigated panic in her recognition.
A police officer directed traffic away from the usual lot where I signed Leo out. Rolling down my window, I blinked into the first sprinkle of rain. “S’cuse me? I’m here to pick up my brother.”
“All the kids have been relocated to First Baptist across the street.” She pulled out her radio. “What’s your name?”
“Valerie Simons. Picking up Leo Simons.”
The officer didn’t move. Her radio buzzed, but she didn’t budge.
“Miss Simons, I’m going to have you pull over just past that tape.”
It was weird that I was the only car she was letting get close. I knew it was. All these things I knew, even in the moment, were unusual. Still, I eased around an ambulance and parked. Another officer was waiting for me.
“I’m here to pick up my brother,” I said over the rain. I opened the door. “His name is Leo Simons. She said they were at the church…” It was hard to hear over the sound of the rain, the cars, and the crackling radios. Even the flashing white-and-red lights of the ambulance added a special friction to the din.
“Miss Simons, I am sorry to tell you, but there was a shooting here about an hour ago.”
“Oh my god. Is everyone okay?”
Her face changed. “I’m very sorry—”
“No.”
“Ma’am—”
“Leo?” I screamed.
I pushed past her and staggered toward the school like a wounded animal. Ducking under the yellow police tape, I saw the faintest stream of red running down the hill—a living watercolor of our shared blood. The rain brought it to my boots, swirling into a crimson pool as I came to a halt.
Six people stood around a small body. A camera flashed. A pair of legs shifted, and there was my brother, my brother—his tiny arm and tiny face exposed as a coroner pulled back the tarp. They didn’t notice me there until I screamed.
I screamed until my throat was raw, until my stomach was weak with horror and I couldn’t hear anything else but the pain emitting from my chest and into the dark, dark clouds. A paramedic caught me just before the concrete came rushing up to meet my skull.
If only I’d done something else. Anything else. If I’d gone online instead of napped. If I’d gotten Starbucks with Lyla like she’d suggested. If only I’d decided, hey, let’s get the little bro early today and sneak in some In-N-Out for dinner.
But no. I overslept.
I rebury the thoughts like I’ve done before. The scars on my leg flare to life, molten metal at a forge of memory.
“I should have been there. I should have been on time.” I wipe my nose. “That’s what gets me. All I had to do was be on time. But I wasn’t. I wasn’t and that’s why he’s dead.”
“That is not true.”
“Yes, yes, it actually is.” I cross my arms and curl myself inward as if that would stamp out the pain in my chest. “If I’d been there on time, or early—”
“Valerie.”
Theresa stares at me sternly. “Thank you for telling me,” she says. “God knows the world could use a little more honesty. And because it does, I’m telling you it was not your fault. An accident, if anything.”
I nod numbly in reply. I’ve heard this spiel before, from Mom, Dad, Matthew, John freakin’ Kilmer, everyone. Everyone told me it wasn’t my fault, it just never took.
But now? Micah is dead, Leo is dead. All I have are the Stags.
I take a deep breath. “Theresa, may I ask … why do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Fund the Stags. Fund the Wars.”
The spot between her upper lip and nose twitch, and for a split second her face is something sinister. “I love my son. This is what he wants. It makes him happy. What kind of mother would I be if I kept him from that?”
“Yeah, but still.”
Her gaze goes from stern to malicious in an instant. “I see what you’re thinking—that I am complicit in this. Well, I am. That is a decision I made a long time ago and I stand by it. My son is my life. I have every right to do with my money as I please, and giving Jax what he wants is what I please.”
I nod again, looking away. I have a sudden vision of Theresa lifting me up and over the railing.
Theresa inhales so deeply I wonder how her lungs can contain it all. She lets it go and shakes her hand as if we’ve been discussing something frivolous. “Anyway. Keep your head down
and I’m sure you’ll finish your year just fine.”
Nodding, I try to think of something complimentary to say. “Jax looks after us well.”
“Jon.”
“What?”
“My son’s name is Jonathan Anthony Wilde. Where on earth he got ‘Jax’ from, I’ll never know.”
Jonathan Anthony Wilde. I wish I could un-hear it. Jax needs to stay a god in my eyes. My leader, not a human being. Not somebody’s child.
“I won’t ask you to forgive him,” she says. “Or me, for that matter. Clearly you think my actions are wrong. That is your choice. But I will ask you to forgive yourself. I’m sure you’ve been told to. But truly—it’s time.”
She angles around me, so close that for a moment all I breathe is her refined perfume. I am not sorry to see her go. Through the glass, I watch as she gives each of the others a hug, then leaves.
Nianna opens the slider. “Jax wants to start planning.”
* * *
I know the spot they’ve picked: the Music Concourse at Golden Gate Park. Between the de Young Museum and California Academy of Sciences is an open plaza with fountains, gnarled trees, and rows of green benches. Families go there. Tourists go there. It’s beautiful and safe—and Jax is going to bathe it in blood.
“I’ll meet Camille and Ty here.” Jax taps his finger on the middle of the stone columns. “We’ll talk, pretend to make some kind of treaty. Ty will be in on it, and his guys will be around. The Young Herons, too.”
“When will you make your move?” Nianna asks.
“Right away. I’ve said I want a negotiation. I’m not going to give them one.” Jax goes quiet, and very still. I study his face, waiting for him to say more and wondering what he’s thinking. Is he expecting to die? Something catches in my chest, like a hook on my heart—I can’t lose another one. There’s no room left in my head or heart for any more pain.
Mako buys more food from the deli, and we eat. I chew and taste the salty, then sweet. All of it bitter.
We drag ourselves toward sleep. Tonight, Mako and Kate squeeze onto one side of the couch. Her face is curled against his chest in a way I’d guess might make it difficult to breathe. She won’t move, though, not for the world.
Jax goes into the bedroom. When he doesn’t shut the door behind him, I let myself in. He faces the bed like he doesn’t know what it’s for.
I put my arms around his waist, leaning my forehead between his shoulder blades. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move.
So I take his hand and guide him to bed. We curl our limbs around each other. I kiss his cheek. My lips remember the feel of his skin, even after all these days. Even after this day. Jax rolls onto his side, facing away from me. I lean my forehead against his back.
Jax shifts rolling over until his face is next to mine.
“I have something to tell you,” he says.
“What is it?”
“The guy who killed your brother. It’s Ty Boreas.”
His words should shock me. I should be paralyzed with a wave of emotions as the knowledge hits home, but I’m already so exhausted, my whole body an open and aching wound, that instead I start crying and ask, “Why?”
“It was Elliott Boreas’s final test for his little brother before he handed the reins to the Boars over to him. He wanted to make sure his brother would do anything to get back at the Herons.” Jax sighs, shuddering. “The day Ty told me was the day I left the Boars. It had been coming for a while, but killing an innocent kid to hurt the Westons was the last straw.
“I begged Brianna to come with me. She said no, at first. She knew what happened to deserters and didn’t want to take the risk. Finally she caved and … you know the rest. After she was kidnapped, we went to the police. Did everything right. She had to tell them everything, every detail. But as soon as we told them we were Boars who wanted out, they took us less seriously. They said they’d follow up with us and never did, even when I called in.
“Brianna stopped talking to me. Later, I found out she went back to the Boars. They got her hooked on some drug, and she couldn’t quit it. Then she disappeared. I’ve hired investigators to find her. They all say she moved to LA and never came back.”
Jax isn’t crying. He’s a hard guy to read at the best of times, but right now even more so. So I let my tears flow for the both of us and for Brianna.
Memories come back like embers fanned back to life—me, Matthew, and Leo in the living room, my brother laughing until snot ran down his face as Matthew spun him around like an airplane. The vision shifts. Matthew at the funeral, holding my hand. He didn’t say anything then. He never, never told me the truth.
My leader lets me sob into the bed as each wave of realization erodes any confusion I ever had. Ty Boreas killed Leo to get at Matthew, before Matthew was even a Heron. Before Matthew was mine, or pretended to be. I have to believe the memories of those six months were real. Everything else was just a fantasy I built up in my head.
My mind jumps—Ty Boreas. I was so close to him, literally. Fuck honor and rules. I could have done it weeks ago. That stupid, guilty look that gave me pause. Did he recognize me and want to apologize? Did he want to laugh in my face, let me know the truth right there? He must have bragged about it, must have told someone. That’s how those Boars knew about Leo the day I was tattooed. They’d heard the legend and wanted to drive the hurt home.
Jax places his hand firmly on my shoulder.
“Tomorrow,” he says. “When I take my shot at Camille, you can take your shot at Ty.”
Revenge for Leo, innocent of everything. Revenge for sweet, kindhearted Micah. Freedom for all of us.
“I’m ready,” I whisper back. “Let’s end this.”
Finally, a smile. “Let’s end this.”
25
The black day arrives. I can’t sit still, so I focus on each task as if my life depended on it. Go to the store with Mako, get breakfast. Eat. Think. Plan. Anything to pass the time while remembering that today’s the day I get my revenge.
We take the M line to Forest Hill then transfer to a bus. The road is winding with rows of houses on one side and dense trees on the other. The bus turns, and we’re in the Inner Sunset.
We get to the park at 7:17 P.M., leaving us hours until any of the other gangs are set to arrive. But I already feel them. I feel them coming. Focusing on the ground beneath my feet, I manage to keep my calm.
Micah. Leo. This is for them. This is what I want.
I stand by Jax. “There’s not much cover.”
He lights a cigarette. “Just stick with the plan.”
His eyes are hard and focused as he scans the Music Concourse not once, but twice. A park security vehicle stops at the crosswalk. Mako and Kate take a selfie, playing the carefree tourists. The car rolls forward. Kate deletes the photo.
“You and Kate behind those benches.” Jax points to the other side. “Nianna and Mako there. Jaws in the pillars behind.” There’s a catch in his voice, and I feel it like I would a punch. We’re all used to him saying Micah’s name, too.
We drag our feet, not knowing whether to say good luck or goodbye or both.
Nianna steps up next to me. “You look nervous.”
“I’m fine.”
“Valerie?”
“What?”
“I’m sorry for what I said. About you not being a real Stag.”
“I’m sorry, too. I should have been more open from the start.”
I turn and walk away, the gravel crunching under my feet, and a faint feeling from the back of my mind ricochets forward. That’s the first time she’s called me by my full name. The only one who ever did was Micah.
Mako and Kate’s ritual is hard to watch. Their usual quick peck is slow, and they both linger. They’re breaking, like at the end of Casablanca. I can almost hear the whir of a plane waiting to take her away.
They pull apart, and I take Kate’s hand. He whispers one last thing in her ear. I want to say something, but there aren�
�t any words. I don’t say goodbye to Mako. If I looked back at him now, I’d lose all my nerve and tell them to run, please run, and be happy.
Logic says I can go. Loyalty says I can’t. I couldn’t protect Leo, and I couldn’t save Micah. I’ve lived with guilt long enough now to know its every whisper, the way it turns its head, the way it kisses and kills.
I know I’ll never be free if I run now. This time, I have to do something.
Dozens of sycamore and elm trees spread their bulky limbs toward each other like synapses between neurons in the brain. Even though they’re tipped with green buds, the trees look nightmarish, like something out of a Tim Burton movie.
Jax takes a spot next to an aisle. Behind him, an elderly couple huddles together. There’s a group of teens hanging out on the steps in front of the columns. The girls squeal in ripped skinny jeans and oversized sweatshirts.
I hate them. I wish I were them—carefree.
Looking at the far side of the concourse, I can just make out the shapes of Kurt and Cameron. Juliet is over by the Cal Academy. We are making the Stag presence known.
Mako’s stationed a few rows back and to the right of Jax. Nianna disappears to the far side of the columns to guard the opposite side. Jaws paces the perimeter of the stage we’ve set, circling it in slow, weighty steps. When the security car comes again, he melts into the shadows of the columns until it drives past.
Kate and I take turns sitting on the bench and crouching down behind it. The benches are flimsy—no way they’d stop a bullet—with curling green armrests that remind me of Disneyland. Silly things you think about when you’re about to die.
There is nothing to do but wait and listen.
Buses load and offload passengers. Crows call to each other from the trees. The clang of a nearby flagpole’s line, tossed in the wind—I hear all of it.
Kate and I trade places. Blood rushes back into my legs as I stretch out. Down below, Jax starts on what must be his fourth or fifth cigarette. Farther down, Nianna and Mako pace around their post and each other. Getting here so early seemed like a smart idea. It gave us something to focus on.
A Thousand Fires Page 24
